


The Daisies

by Medeafic



Series: Circus [1]
Category: Glee RPF, Star Trek RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Circus, Circus, Dysfunctional Family, F/F, M/M, Phobias, Psychological Trauma, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-24
Updated: 2012-01-24
Packaged: 2017-10-30 02:48:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/326927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medeafic/pseuds/Medeafic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Greenwood's Circus, siblings Chris Pine and Dianna Agron were the headlining act until an accident changed everything.  Zachary Quinto and Lea Michele join Greenwood's for the season as new headliners.  (Attempting to post this once a week, 7 or 8 parts.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Daisies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Faberryspork (jaymamazing)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaymamazing/gifts), [pippin004](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pippin004/gifts).



> _________________________________________________________________  
> Warnings: In this part, one character is suffering from panic attacks, and one is still recovering from a severe injury after a traumatic event. Use of the word 'crippled'. There are mentions of drug abuse and gambling, and allusions to parental death. 
> 
> Thanks: emmessann did much more than a beta-work on this; she's more of a co-creator. Thank you so much for EVERYTHING - you know how much your help transformed this story. Thank you also to zjofierose who pushed me for context and description. <3  
> _________________________________________________________________

Chris pulls off his cap to wipe his brow, and then resettles the hat onto his head. The day is hot, too hot, but the quicker the tent goes up, the quicker he can relax. For a moment, though, his interest outweighs any forthcoming comfort, and shades his eyes to get a better view of the couple talking to Bruce.

“They’re the new act?” he calls to John, who is struggling to pull his sides of the tarpaulin into place.

“Yeah, they’re the Daisies.” As in, _fresh as_. Lingo and slang have a long and proud tradition in the circus and carnie worlds but John, being John, prefers to make up his own language. It’s usually funny and accurate, so no one minds. No one except Chris, who finds it an annoying affectation. “Are you gonna get that tarp pulled straight or do I have to do everything on my own?”

“On your own.”

“Screw you, Pine. Do your damn job.”

Chris chuckles, but as he bends to yank at the warming tarp, his smile disappears. Yes, this is his job now: setting up the tents, carrying benches and fetching tools, helping out with food prep. Everything in the circus but what he was _trained_ to do, which he can’t do anymore.  Twenty-three years old and already retired.

Continuing on that train of thought only ever leads to guilt, sorrow and anger. Chris is a past master at it, but feeling bad isn’t going to raise the Big Top. The ring crew has been working since sun-up, although Chris didn’t join them until after breakfast.

Technically, this isn’t John Cho’s job either. He’s a clown and a tumbler, but he likes to stay in shape and take part in every little thing, so he’s always pitching in to lend a hand. John even helps out on trapeze, spotting for the fliers and catching occasionally.

It’s a nice quality, Chris thinks, to want to be involved – or it would be if he didn’t suspect John of having ulterior, gossipy motives. Chris can’t fault his involvement in the raising of the Big Top, though, which is a labor of love at the best of times and almost unbearable in this heat. Greenwood’s is one of the few touring one-ring tent circuses left in this financial climate. It’s cheaper to hire a venue and contract performers rather than tour and pay a wage to regulars like Greenwood’s does. Bruce has finally caved this season, and is trying out a contract arrangement with the Daisies.

Goddamn it, the _newbies_.

Chris glances again at the figures across the way as he tugs the tarp, unrolling and unfolding in a familiar rhythm. It takes time and effort to raise the Top, but Chris enjoys being part of it. He likes the sense of camaraderie it gives him with the non-performers, and he likes contributing something real and tangible. Now, however, his attention is caught by the new arrivals.

Even from this distance the newbies look bored, or maybe just impatient to get out of the heat. Bruce is talking in his usual slow-animated way, lots of wide yet unhurried arm gestures and hand-claps. He reaches out to slap the tall, male figure on the shoulder, and Chris smirks as the blow hits. He himself has had enough of Bruce’s friendly shoulder-thumps to last a lifetime.

“They’re here for your job,” John says in his ear. He’s tramped across, panting a little, to watch with Chris. “Right? To replace you and Dianna?”

“We’re not being replaced. We’re doing other stuff. Di just needs more time to recover and I—”

“Sure, sure,” John replies. “But I meant – Bruce was hoping to have them pull?” Pull: in Cho-speak, to headline, to draw the crowds.

“I don’t know.” Chris sets off towards the group. Fuck John. He can set up the tent with the rest of the ring crew. Chris knows it’ll kill him if he doesn’t get the gossip first, and feels a disgruntled need to annoy him.

“Bruce,” he says when he reaches the group. “Scaring off the new talent?”

Bruce wallops his shoulder as he breaks into broad laughter. “Just making sure we’re all on the same page.”

Chris winces and rubs his shoulder, glancing at the others: a man and a woman, both dark-haired and dark-eyed, sensual as a unit and beautiful individually. The man is trying to hide his smile at Chris’s pained expression. Chris grins back.

“I’m Chris, Chris Pine.” He extends a hand, and is made aware of how sweaty and sticky it is when the man grasps it with his own, dry and strong. “Welcome to Greenwood’s.”

“Zach Quinto. This is my partner, Lea Michele.”

Lea gives Chris a look that makes him want to smooth down his hair and check his face for smudges. “So you’re the guy who dropped—”

“Plenty of time to get to know more about each other,” Bruce interrupts. “Hot as Hades out here, so why don’t we go into my office and chat?” Bruce leads the two of them away to his RV, which is air-conditioned and well-appointed. Chris’s own trailer is far less comfortable, a relic inherited from his father.  Dianna lives in the newer trailer they grew up in as a family, although Chris spends more time in Di's than his own these days. Thinking of her, Chris half-turns his feet to head over to her trailer. He sees Zach glancing back at him, although he can’t define the expression. Curiosity, maybe. Chris fights to contain a glare.

He knows he’s infamous in circus circles, but goddamn it, he hates to be reminded of it.

 

***

 

Dianna is sitting up in bed in her trailer, reading the latest gruesome murder mystery. She’s gone through genre phases since the accident – nineteenth-century lit, romance, modern classics, spy thrillers and now good old murder. Chris tries to keep up with the changes, but he always feels a step behind.

“What happened to John le Carré?” he asks her.

“Got sick of boys and their toys,” she replies, closing the book. “What’s happening out there?”

“Heat, sweat and doppelgangers.”

“Do tell.”

“You want to hear about my lack of working deodorant?”

She rolls her eyes and he flops into the chair opposite her bed. “Fine. They’re here. Our replacements.” He feels bad about sounding despondent, especially since the whole thing was his fault, and Di is the last person he should be complaining to, but he can’t help it.

“What are they like?”

“I don’t know. We only talked for a minute. Dark hair and eyes, both of them. Kind of sultry-looking. She doesn’t seem to like me much.”

“Only you could make an enemy in the space of sixty seconds. What about him? Hate you on sight as well?”

Chris sees Zach’s backwards glance once more. “I think he probably wonders how I could have fucked up so badly.”

Di groans. “This again?”

“Just let me wallow for a minute.” Chris pats her knee over the blanket.

“You need to get back to practicing. Quit worrying about the past and get back in the saddle. Or on the trapeze, at least. Leave the horse stunts to Zoë.”

“Mm, she can have them. That woman is terrifying.”

Zoë Saldana is their head trick rider. She leads the parade into the tent each performance, balancing bareback on an enormous, cantering white stallion named Ulysses, and she wears a headdress that would not be out of place at the Rio Carnival. Chris has always thought her braver than all of them, because one slip beneath those heavy hooves and it’ll be over for her.

Like it was almost over for Dianna.

She can see the regret clear on his face, he knows, because she gets that irritated air about her and pulls the blanket off her legs. “Help me up.”

“You shouldn’t—”

“ _Help_ me,” she insists. “The physios want me to move around more.”

It’s not as though he can refuse. Chris had never been able to refuse her anything before the accident, and afterwards…well. He grabs her arms and lets her pull herself to the edge of the bed.

“Ugh. Pins and needles.” She rubs vigorously at her calves, until Chris kneels.

“Let me.”

“Okay,” she says after another minute. “We’re good.” She moves her weight forward on the bed and grasps at Chris’s shoulder, holding on tightly as he rises from the ground. He grabs her waist to pull her up, takes a moment to make sure she has her balance, and then steps back to let her stand alone.

Di smiles that perfect, gorgeous smile they’ve both inherited from their mother, and says, “Alright, I’m ready for my daily excursion. Take me to see the Daisies.”

“Too much time with John.” Chris holds out his hand. “Come on, then. Maybe they’ll like you better than me.”

“They should. I’m the pretty one.”

Laughing, Chris pushes open the trailer door.

 

***

 

The Big Top still isn’t up, and Chris can see John racing around, encouraging the ring crew to move faster. Eric Bana, whose job description is Operations Master, but whose job duties include everything from electrics to rigging to lighting to setting out seats, looks like he’s ready to deck John. The quarter-poles are in and the ring crew has raised the Top a third of the way up.  Di and Chris pause as they hear Eric raise his voice at John, his broad Australian accent instantly recognizable although the two of them have moved out of sight. Chris has no doubt that the shouting is justified.

They do need the Top up today, though. The first performances aren’t scheduled for a week but Bruce will want the new act up and running for next opening night. That will take some practice for Zach and Lea, getting used to a new layout, new choreography, the changeover periods between acts.

Chris walks slowly beside Dianna, close but not too close, because then she’ll push him away and accuse him of smothering her. But she’s still so delicate on her feet, he’s always terrified she’ll trip and fall and somehow damage herself again. Once was enough. Thanks to him, she’ll never swing on a flying trapeze again and neither, he’s vowed, will he.

“Where are they?” Dianna asks.

“Bruce was taking them to his trailer and then I guess he’d show them around?”

Dianna stops, her face screwing up.

“Di – are you okay?”

“Just a twinge. It’s a good sign, though, the physios tell me.”

“I wish you’d –”

“Christopher, I don’t want to hear it.” She uses her serious tone of voice, the one that means _shut it or I’ll shut it for you_ , so Chris bites his tongue and doesn’t say it.

He’s said it so often before, anyway. I wish we’d stayed in the city after your hospital stay, so you could have had one physio track your case, instead of coming back to the circus and having to switch every couple of weeks. I wish we could have quit, and I could have found a normal job, one with a better insurance plan. I wish you’d take your medication when you need it and not just when you’re about to cry from the pain.

But Di has been insistent all the way through. Limited meds, because there was no way she’d willingly turn out like Dad. And she was staying with her family – with Greenwood's. So they stayed.

Her recovery has been slow. Long months in the hospital felt like a miserable ostracism from Greenwood’s despite visits from other members of the troupe. Di wanted Chris to leave her there and go back, but he refused, camping out in his trailer on the outskirts of town and driving in to the hospital daily. Once she was well enough to leave, the two of them caught up with circus during the off-season.  Chris is struggling to find a new place for himself now that the new season has started, but he doesn’t talk about it with Di. She has enough problems of her own.

Dianna’s back hurts most of the time, although she doesn’t talk about it, but Chris can see the strain in her face and the pall of her skin when it’s bad. Since they got back to Greenwood’s, Chris has moved into her trailer at nights to keep her company and feed her drugs when the agony becomes too much for her, but it’s always a struggle. “For Christ’s sake,” he’s snapped too often. “Just _take_ them. You _need_ them.” They seem to have found a balance over the last two months, a ratio of pain to meds to physio, and Chris takes care of her his little sister as much as she’ll let him.

“I don’t see the Daisies. Maybe Bruce will show them around after he’s finished the sweet-talking.” Di begins walking again, slow and cautious. After a few steps Chris sees her shoulders relax and he knows the pain is receding.

On the other side of the clearing, the riggers gave a shout, pull slowly forward, levering the tent roof upward. Di and Chris stop to watch the Big Top rising against the deep blue sky.

“I’ll never get tired of seeing that,” Di says, and Chris, his heart happy, draws her close and kisses the top of her head. “Ew,” she says. “Cooties.” But she doesn’t push him away.

They wait and watch as the ring crew secures the Top. Zoë brings out folding chairs for all of them and they let the heat melt them into their seats. It’s only early May but the weather is already scorching. Summer will be difficult this year. Zoë fans herself while they watch, her long legs spread out in front of her and shining in the sun.

John shouts at Chris to come and help, but he shakes his head with a grin. “Looking after my sister, man,” he calls back. “No can do.”

“She’s a wonderful excuse for you,” Zoë says. “What’re you going to do when she’s fully recovered?”

“Drop me again?” Dianna suggests.

“ _Jesus_ , Di.”

“Oh, _Chris_. I was joking. I’m _sorry_ , I was just –”

But Chris is already up and moving away, unable to laugh it off. “I was just kidding!” Di calls after him, exasperated. He feels his breath coming quicker, his heart pounding in his chest. He never wants Di to see him like this – he never wants _anyone_ to see him like this. He stumbles his way across the site, gasping for air and trying to shake off the tunnel vision. Ahead of him is the mess tent – if he can get there, he can wait until this passes over.

The mess tent is a marquee, with three of sides rolled down to block out the heat, and is empty and relatively cooler. Dinner prep doesn’t start for another hour. At that time, a group of four or five, performers and operations alike, will invade and start chopping, peeling, slicing in the main area while Chris and Karl Urban, head chef, cook dinner for the hordes.

For now, Chris sits at one of the long tables, pressing his hands into the wood of the tabletop and watching as his palm prints evaporate. His breathing and heartbeat begin to settle. _Stop being so stupid,_ he tells himself. _It’s not going to happen again. It’s never going to happen again, because you’re never going up there again._

Bruce’s voice sounds outside, coming close, “And this is where we eat,” and Chris braces himself as Bruce, Zach and Lea round the corner. “Chris?”

“I’m getting an early start on the potatoes for tonight.” It’s the first excuse that comes to mind. He must look as guilty as sin, because none of the three people staring at him look convinced.

“Where are they?” Lea asks.

“What?”

“The potatoes? Where are they?”

“I—” Chris swallows. “I haven’t got them out yet. I was just taking a moment.”

Lea crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow. Chris looks at her and then at Zach, but he’s standing further forward into the marquee, his face half-shadowed.

“Come on,” Zach says, turning Lea around by the shoulders. “We still have to look at the Big Top.”

Bruce hangs back, looking at Chris in concern. “‘Taking a moment’, Pine? You want to swing by later and have a chat?”

“Not really.”

“How about a drink, then?”

“Yeah. Yeah, maybe I’ll do that.”

Bruce nods, and walks off after the Daisies.

The _newbies_. Damn it.

 

***

 

Chris stays in the mess tent, too ashamed of himself to go back to Di and Zoë, and he knows Zoë will take care of his sister. Hell, everyone keeps an eye out for Di these days, which is a good thing as far as Chris is concerned, since he can’t trust himself to do it when it counts.

John looks in half an hour later to find Chris resting his head on his arm, tracing out the ridges in the wooden table.

“Top’s up,” John says. “No thanks to you.”

Chris grunts.

“Jeez, man, will you get over yourself already?”

Chris sits up, a sharp retort all ready to fire, but John is stalking away, shaking his head. Chris slumps back, furious. John has no idea. Clowning gets all the laughs and carries few risks, compared to aerial acts. John might have spotted and caught for them a few times, but he never flew. What does he know? _He’s_ not the one with the recurring nightmares about—

“You planning to cook, or are you planning to sit around on your arse like you did all afternoon?”

Chris turns his head. “Karl. You’re early.”

Karl pulls the dishcloth off his shoulder, winds it tightly and flicks it at Chris, who jerks back just before it hits his forehead. “Dinner prep starts exactly when I say it does, so no, I’m not early. I’m right on time. You helping or not?” Sometimes Karl comes in early to help out with prep, but he’d already left detailed instructions for the rostered group this morning. It leaves Chris with the uncomfortable feeling that he’s been talked about, that Karl has been sent to bolster him.

He follows Karl behind the serving tables and into a smaller tent behind the marquee. The cook tent has its own portable AC unit because otherwise it would be stifling, but it won’t make much difference once the cooking starts in earnest. Boiling pots, hotplates, steamers, fryers – they all combine to raise the temperature, and after the day’s heat, it will be unpleasant.

“Good thing I like your stink,” Karl tells him as they started chopping and grating and peeling. “It’s going to be hell in here tonight.”

Chris doesn’t reply. He’s not in the mood for banter today, not after the Daisies, and Di’s joke, and his panic attack.  At least he managed to hide it.

“Christ, kid, will you perk up? I don’t want you cooking in here if you’re gonna be a misery-guts all night. It’ll affect the food.”

“Can’t make it any worse,” Chris says with a small smile, and Karl flicks him again with the rolled dishcloth, right on the butt. “Ow! Fuck you.”

“That’s better,” Karl says. “And fuck _you_.”

“Can we do fried potatoes tonight?”

“If you’ll tell me what’s troubling your precious soul.”

“The usual.”

Karl doesn’t say anything, just grates his carrot a little harder.

“I know you all think I’m dumb for being so affected by it, but—”

“We don’t think you’re dumb, Pine, we’re _worried_ , and fuck you if you can’t see that. You’re fine for a while and then your sister will talk about how she misses flying up there, or someone asks you when you’re going back on the trapeze, and you close down like a roller door.”

“I’m not going back on the trapeze, so everyone needs to stop asking.” Chris starts peeling potatoes with vicious swipes.

Karl rinses his hands, wipes them on the dishcloth. “Look. We’re not unsympathetic, okay? We understand you feel like shit. But for Di’s sake, you’ve got to get over this. It’s been a long time. _She’s_ the one who cracked her back, but the way you carry on you’d think it was _you_.”

Chris freezes, peeler in hand, and takes a second to be thankful it isn’t a knife. “Shut your mouth, Urban,” he says through clenched teeth.

Karl goes back to his work. They organize, slice and grate in silence until the prep group, all musicians tonight, come in to do the rest while Karl and Chris begin cooking. The others sit out in the mess tent to prepare, singing and laughing and banging out beats on the tabletop. The sounds make the silence between Chris and Karl less frosty. Even so, the only things Karl says are barked-out orders about what needs to be cooked when, and Chris is grateful for it. He can follow orders, no problem.

Once his part in the cooking is done he turns to leave Karl to it. Usually he hangs around, helps take things out, but not tonight.

“Oi,” Karl says, just before Chris disappears. “I was out of line earlier. Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Chris replies.

“Are we good?”

“We’re good.”

Chris heads to Di’s trailer to take her over to dinner, but she’s not there.  He assumes she’s with Zoë. He ignores the slight relief he feels at not having to face her just yet, and goes back to his own trailer for a quick shower. Afterwards, he joins the growing line of people waiting outside the mess tent. Karl runs the place like a military operation – no one is allowed in until all the warm dishes are in their server baths, the salads set out on the buffet, and woe betide anyone who shoves or tries to jump ahead past the vegetables. Except Dianna, who has a special dispensation, which she rarely takes up. Even Chris has to line up for each meal unless he’s taking Di in early.

“Hey! Hey, what’s on tonight?” Anton asks, running up behind Chris to join the queue.

“Slaw, chicken, some fancy salad thing with oranges in it. Tofu cutlets for the veg-heads. Nothing too heavy, because of the heat, although I talked him into some fried potatoes.” That’ll show the Daisy for asking about the potatoes earlier, if she’s even _coming_ to dinner. She didn’t seem the sociable type. “Cold cherry pie and ice cream for dessert.”

“Sounds good.” Anton licks his lips.

As a rule the troupe eats fresh and healthy food, but calories are less of an issue because it’s their job to swing, cartwheel, jump. Breakfasts are always big affairs, although Chris has cut back on his portion size since he’s not on trapeze anymore. But it’s hard – Karl is a great cook.

“It _does_ sound good,” says a voice from behind Chris, and he wheels around to see Zach Quinto stopped nearby, listening in. “Back at our old place it was pasta, pizza, or fend for yourself. Most of the artists liked to do their own food prep, but I’ve heard great things about the Greenwood’s menu.”

Zach’s eyes are warm and friendly, even as they drift up and down Chris’s body, back to his face.

Anton clears his throat.

“Uh. Anton, this is Zach. Bruce brought him in. Zach, Anton. Anton does trick riding.”

“ _Dzhigitovka_ ,” Anton supplies. Chris can never say the word. “Following in the footsteps of my Cossack ancestors.”

“Nice,” Zach says, his eyebrows rising with admiration.

“Don’t get him started,” Chris warns, but Anton ignores him.

“I do some trampoline, too. What do you do?”

“This and that. Some static aerial work, hoop and ropes, that kind of thing. Acrobatics. Juggling. An act with my partner, impalement arts stuff. And,” he looks at Chris, “sword-swallowing.”

“Oh,” Chris says.

It’s not unusual to be multi-skilled in other circuses, but it is at Greenwood’s. Most Greenwood’s performers have one or two arts in which they concentrate and excel, with one or two back-ups, but always in the same area. They’re more specialized than larger circuses, but that’s why they’re also at the top of their fields – even the clowns.

They can all tumble, of course. And Zoë, for example, does a low-wire and balance beam act as well as the horses. Chris has experience with most aerial arts, including silks, which he began practicing after seeing Cirque du Soleil in Vegas several years back. Dianna did some static aerial work and a magic act before the accident – bunnies in hats, and flower posies from her sleeves. Clichéd stuff, but she was good at it and personable, and the kids loved it. She’ll be taking it up again once her back allows her to stand up longer than thirty minutes at a time. But Zach’s skills are wider, if not deeper.

“Jack of all trades, huh?” Anton asks, nodding his head.

“And master of none.” It’s out before Chris can think how it will sound, and he’s mortified. “Jesus, sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

“It’s fine,” Zach says. “I know you guys here are traditionally more streamlined in the circus arts. I think it’s a good idea. Hey, you mind if I cut in line? I’m starving. Bruce kept us talking for hours.”

Anton has to nudge him before Chris replies. “Sure, man. Yeah.” Chris pulls back a little to let Zach slip into line in front of him. “Climb aboard.”

 

***

 

They end up sitting across from each other at the dinner table.

It’s not that Chris wants to avoid him, it’s just that there’s going to be an uncomfortable conversation at some stage, and he’d rather have it in private. But it looks like this guy is determined to have it out in the open.

At least the marquee hasn’t filled up yet. Chris silently blesses Karl’s strict organization when Zach says, “So, I wanted to make sure things would be cool between us.”

Chris laughs.

“What?”

“Nothing, just – people. They’re so predictable. Yeah, things are cool between us. You and your girlfriend are taking over for me and my sister as headliners. It happens. It’s happening for a reason. I’m not bitter about it.” He’s not bitter about _that_ , at least.

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Zach spears a piece of chicken on his fork and appraises it. It must meet his approval, because he pops it into his mouth and chews, before forking up some coleslaw.

“Oh, right. Your sister, then.”

“She’s not my sister. _Damn_. This coleslaw is amazing!”

“I made the dressing,” Chris says, instead of, “Then who the fuck _is_ she?” He watches Zach eat for a few minutes, wondering what to say next. “Which circus did you grow up in?”

“We didn’t. It was Lea who was hell-bent on the circus. I didn’t mind what we did as long as we were performing.”

“So she’s running your life for you?” Chris asks. It’s not fair, but like John said earlier, the man _is_ here for Chris’s job.

“No,” Zach protests, and it’s the first time Chris has heard him sound less than sanguine. But Zach shakes it off and goes back to his food, scraping up another heaped forkful. “Nah, just she’s always had more drive than me. I’m more of a go-where-the-wind-blows kinda guy. Lea’s always had a career strategy mapped out, as crazy as that sounds to circus people. She’s a whirlwind, but she’s got her route planned.”

“And where does her route take her after Greenwood’s?” As contractors, there’s no guarantee that Bruce will keep the new additions on past this season.

“Tell you the truth, I don’t know if she’s thought beyond here. Greenwood’s has been her goal since she started out, and now she has it, she won’t know what to do with herself. Me, though? I think I’m gonna like it here,” Zach says, with a flirty smile. “So there’s not going to be an epic battle of tortured artists, fighting to see who comes out on top? Because I have to be honest, I was looking forward to the drama.”

“No drama here. Sorry to disappoint.”

“Oh, I’m not disappointed,” Zach says, with a suggestive look from beneath his lashes. Chris stares at him. “On the other hand—” Zach jerks his head to the side. “You might wanna buckle down for Hurricane Lea. She knows how to bring the drama.”

Chris twists on the bench to see Lea slamming down her tray in front of the bains-marie serving baths. “I can’t eat _any_ of this.”

“Shit,” Chris says. Karl is not going to take this quietly.

As he thinks it, he sees Karl striding up behind the serving area, arms crossed in a parody of Lea’s. “Problem?”

“All of this _stuff_ has animal products in it.”

Karl raises an eyebrow. “That’s tofu, _right there_.”

Lea shakes back her hair. “It’s breaded.”

“Uh _huh_ ,” Karl says, as though he’s humoring a third-grader.

“Did you use egg wash to bread it? Or a milk-based slurry?” Chris is kind of impressed she knows that term. Most of Bruce’s folks couldn’t care less what they’re eating as long as it tastes good and provides enough energy to get through the day.

“I sure did. Egg _and_ milk. Organic. Vegetarian-safe.”

“Then I can’t eat it.” She crosses her arms again, and Chris starts thinking he’s going to see that gesture a lot. “I’m a vegan.”

Karl is about to tell her in his filthiest New Zealand slang to shove it, Chris can tell. He stands, meaning to walk over and break them up, but then he sees Dianna limping up behind Lea and smiling at Karl.

“We’ve never had a vegan here before,” she says to Lea, touching her arm. “But I bet Karl would make you something specially, if you asked. Nicely.”

The whole marquee has gone silent, waiting to see what will happen – except Zach, who has gone back to his dinner. Lea turns to face the tables, her eyes flashing as she surveys the interested crowd. Chris wonders if she’s getting off on the attention. Di gives her arm a squeeze and Lea darts a look at her, at her encouraging smile.

Lea turns back to Karl. “Would you please make me something without any dead animals or by-products in it?”

Chris wishes he had a camera, because Karl’s face is a picture of conflict. On the one hand, he wants to bitch out Lea. But on the other, Di is standing right there with a bright face, and no one – _no one_ in Greenwood’s is going to say no to her right now.

“I’d be happy to,” Karl says in a strangled voice.

There’s a rustling and murmuring throughout the marquee.

“Eat your damn food!” Karl snaps at the room, and stalks out the back to the cooking area.

“I think I’d better go help,” Chris says. “Or he might break something.”

“I’ll come,” Zach replies, swinging his long legs over the bench. “Lea’s high-maintenance. If she knows I’m helping, she won’t be so…well.” He makes a face.

“You sure she’s not just trying to make her mark?”

Zach gives him a knowing smile. “You’re a smart guy, Chris Pine. Maybe. Either way, it’ll be easier for everyone if I go with you.”

Chris picks up his tray and takes it to the trashcans to scrape off his plates. “Suit yourself,” he says over his shoulder. Zach follows his lead, dumping scraps into the relevant bins. They’ve both made short work of the meal, which is not unusual among circus performers. They’re always ravenous, because they’re always practicing. Unless they’re Chris, who’s just always ravenous these days. Zach waves at Lea before they enter the cooking tent, and Chris notes with irritation that Dianna is sitting with her. Di is too nice, too often.

Karl is slamming pans around and muttering under his breath.

“Hey, Karl!” Chris says. “This is Zach Quinto, new recruit.” Karl swings around, ready to snarl, but Chris gives him a warning glare. “He’s come to help cook a vegan meal.”

Karl throws down a fry-pan and flings his hands up. “Go for it, mate!”

“I’m sorry about my partner,” Zach says with an easy smile. “She likes to see how fast she can rile people. I think she might have broken a record with you, though. She’s just playing around. Don’t take it too seriously.”

Karl glowers, and Chris bites his lip. But Zach passes the test, gazing back with composure until Karl tosses his head back and laughs. “Alright, you’ve won her a free pass for today. And I don’t need help. I know what’s vegan and what’s not. If Bruce had told me, I would have made something special for her up-front.”

Zach nods, and Chris watches as he changes his body language from conciliatory to friendly. It’s a remarkable thing. He wonders if Zach is doing it on purpose, or unconsciously.

“You mind if we hang in here and chat while you do your magic?” he asks Karl. “Just – Lea saw me come in; I wanted to make her think…you know.” He lifts his hands, raises his shoulders. _What can you do_?

“Whatever you want, mate. It’s cooler out there, but if you guys want to sweat it out in here, I’m not going to object.” Karl starts chopping tofu and yanks a long-life pack of soy milk out of the makeshift pantry. “Slurry,” he says under his breath, shaking his head.

“She loves cooking,” Zach says. “Once she gets over herself and settles in, I bet she’ll be a willing accomplice.”

Karl turns away with a grunt. “I’ve already got Chris helping out, and there’s not much room in here. Speaking of which, unless you’re desperate to watch me make this, you could slip out this way, come back when I call.” Karl pushes open a flap of the tent at the back. “We’ll make a triumphant reappearance together.”

Chris raises an eyebrow at Zach, who gives a hand-wave towards freedom. “After you.”

“Don’t trip on the fucking extension cords,” Karl bellows after them. The cords are snaking across the ground from his own trailer, which is itself hooked up to the electrical grid of the campsite.

“We’re actually a lot more safety-aware than this would suggest,” Chris says to Zach, watching him follow the cords with his eyes.

“Yeah?” Zach smiles, but Chris’s grin falters.

“Yeah. Usually.” He turns on the spot and starts walking. “I need some air.” He didn’t mean it as an invitation, but Zach follows him, and it would be rude not to slow down a little to let him walk astride.

“So how is it, working here?” Zach asks as they make their way to the outskirts of the camp. “Fun times?”

Chris stops. “Look, I’m not really interested in sharing shop talk right now. I know you know who I am.”

“Well, yeah. You’re Chris Pine. That’s what you told me, at least. Were you lying?”

“You know what I mean.” He gives Zach a challenging glare and puts his hands on his hips.

Zach looks down. When he speaks, his voice is kind. “Yeah, I know who you are. I know about the accident with your sister, and I know she was badly hurt. But I also know it _was_ just an accident, because no one does something like that on purpose.” He looks at Chris, puts a hand on his shoulder. “It’s always something that might happen. Lines break, or nets fail. We all know that, and we do it anyway. I’m sorry it happened to your sister, and to you. You seem like a nice guy who’s taking it really hard.”

“Oh, _shit_.” It’s happening again, the hyperventilating and his vision squeezing in on itself like he’s looking through binoculars. Chris’s heart is pounding so hard that he’d worry it was a heart attack if it hadn’t happened before. The heat closes in on him, stifling. He tries to shove Zach’s hand away, but wraps fingers around his wrist instead. The sun has not yet set, but everything seems to grow darker. “Go away,” he tries to say. “Leave me alone.”

But Zach won’t go. He pulls Chris closer, soothing him and rubbing his back. When Chris starts to collapse, Zach keeps him safe, bends his limbs so that Chris falls onto him gracefully, like it’s supposed to happen. Like it’s choreographed. They reach the ground instead of hit it, gentle and controlled.

It takes some time before Chris can breathe again, before his lungs will expand when he tells them to, and his mind clears out from the fog. “Don’t tell anyone, don’t you tell them.”

“I won’t,” Zach says into his ear. “It’s okay, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Chris realizes that his nose is pushed into Zach’s shoulder. Their legs are all twisted up in each other’s, entwined like a cat’s cradle.

“You okay?” Zach asks.

“I’m fine.” He tries to sound calm, but his voice is stiff. “You can let go of me. Please. Let go.” He pushes back, and Zach obligingly unwraps his arms, helps Chris untangle their legs. “Sorry. I don’t usually…”

“It’s cool.” Zach rises to stand in one elegant movement, and offers his hand. Chris takes it without looking into his face. He doesn’t need to see more pity.

“Karl will be waiting,” he says, as Zach dusts off his skinny jeans.

“Yeah. We should get back. If Lea doesn’t eat regularly, her blood sugar drops and then…” He makes an explosive noise and hand gesture. “For the good of the people, we should get back.”

Chris nods. “For the good of the people.”

They walk back to the cooking tent. “Hey,” Zach says, before pulling back the flap. “What does Karl do, apart from cook?”

“Fire breathing. Fire twirling. Anything to do with fire.”

Zach smiles. “Figures.”

 

***

 

The conditions remain hot, even after sunset. Sometimes at night they’ll build a small campfire and entertain each other, but no one looks excited by the thought tonight. Even Karl, who doesn’t like to go too long without playing with fire – literally – shouts down the suggestion when Zoë makes it after dinner.

“Then what are we _doing_ tonight?” she demands, standing up on the bench and addressing the whole troupe. “I’m _bored_.”

“You’re on clean-up,” Karl tells her. “With John and Anton. So that’ll keep you busy for a while.” Zoë sits down with a groan and puts her head in her hands. Chris chuckles with everyone else, although he knows she’s just being dramatic. There’s a regular roster for all the chores.

In the end, they all disperse back to their trailers, eager for AC and mindless television. Chris looks over the crowd for Dianna, and frowns again as he sees her chatting with Lea, who has eaten every bite of the meal Karl made her. They walk off together, and Di doesn’t hear him calling.

“You want to hang out for a while?” Zach asks.

Chris is still embarrassed about his collapse before, although he can imagine how it feels to be the new kid coming into such a tight-knit group. “I promised Bruce I’d go see him, have a drink. But you can come, if you like?”

Zach stands with him and looks over to where Bruce is smacking Karl on the shoulder and thanking him for dinner. Karl is one of the few who don’t buckle under Bruce’s backslaps, although he blinks a little.

“Thanks, man, but I think I’ll leave you to it. I’ll help out with the washing up.” He ambles over to Zoë. Chris sees Zoë’s face light up when he makes the offer, and she enthusiastically introduces him to John.

Chris waits for a half hour in Di’s trailer, but she doesn’t come back. He’s starting to wonder where on earth she’s been all afternoon and evening, and hopes the answer doesn’t include one Lea Michele. He’s also worried that Di is going to overextend herself. She can’t take too much walking around. If she _is_ getting friendly with Lea, Chris will have to make sure the Daisy understands Dianna’s limitations.

Pondering how to broach the subject without Dianna taking his head off if she finds out, Chris heads to Bruce’s RV. He hopes Bruce has broken out the big guns.

Bruce has. He’s got a bottle of forty-year-old single malt waiting on the kitchenette table, a pile of old poker chips and a deck of cards – Uno cards. Bruce despises all card games except for Uno, for some reason that no one has ever been able to pry out of him.

“Thanks for coming,” Bruce says. “We haven’t had a chance to talk one-on-one for a while.” Chris sits down opposite him. Bruce starts shuffling the cards, dealing them out. “What’re you waiting for, kid? Pour the nectar.”

Chris grabs a few ice cubes from the mini-fridge and drops them into glasses for each of them, sloshes out some whisky. “Ante up,” he says, tossing back his glass and pouring another.

Bruce throws a chip into the centre of the table, and downs his own glass. “So, Pine. What do you think of them?” Chris wonders if this is how his father and Bruce used to do circus business, over Uno and liquor, man to man until the drugs and horse races took over his dad.

Thinking of his father makes Chris maudlin, so he stalls for time. “What do I think of the new act?”

“Yeah. The Daisies.”

“God almighty,” Chris groans. John’s terminology always spreads through the troupe like wildfire, but he hasn’t heard Bruce pick up _Daisies_ yet.

“It’s a good term,” Bruce says. “So?”

“They seem fine. Well – _he_ does. She’s…” He shakes his head. “You sure she’s going to fit in?”

“Remember Anton, when he first arrived?”

Anton, coming from the oldest and most traditional circuses in the US and Europe, had been a diva for several months until he’d been snubbed enough to rub off some of the sharp corners. Now he’s one of the more popular members, even if he still sometimes boasts about his past.

“So, Chris.” Chris feels wary. Bruce rarely sounds nervous. “I wanted to have a talk with you, run an idea by you.”

Chris plays a Skip, Skip, Reverse, and then lays down a red five. Throws in two chips. Bruce changes the color back to blue, and adds three chips to the pile.

“What’s the idea?”

“Lea and Zach have some great acts, and I think they’ll be able to draw the crowds. But they don’t do trapeze.”

“Zach said he does static.”

“You know what I mean.”

What Bruce means is that while static trapeze is beautiful and elegant, a dance routine suspended in the air on a fixed trapeze, it’s nothing like fly trap. Flying trapeze has excitement, wonder and danger in it, and draws gasps and cheers from the audience. Most troupes have several trapeze artists, but here at Greenwood’s, Chris and Dianna were always the main event. Others have flown with them, but the Heavenly Twins were the ones the crowds came to marvel at, with their intricate tricks and balletic mid-air performances. Each show, brother and sister dressed up as Apollo and Diana; white pan-stick make up and thick black eyeliner, golden glitter in their hair, bright white and gold costumes. Gods flying above the audience.

But that’s all over now.

“We need a trapeze act,” Bruce says.

“I know.”

“I mean we _need_ one. After the financial crisis, people aren’t willing to spend as much on entertainment, so we need a draw card. Since you and Di have stopped performing, attendance is down by thirty percent. Not to mention the fact that we’ve had to drop our entry price just to get people through the gates. I’m not blaming you at all, you know that; it’s just a damn tough economy right now. But trapeze has always been our draw card.”

Chris plays a Wild Draw Four card and raises his eyebrow at Bruce, waiting for a smile. But Bruce is just looking at him, waiting for a response.

“What are you trying to say?” Chris asks.

Bruce sits back and puts his hand of cards face down on the table. “Chris, you and Di are like children to me, but…” He takes a swallow of scotch, changes his tone to sound more businesslike. “I didn’t raise this with Zach and Lea when I contracted them, but I was hoping in the back of my mind that you might train them up. Another set of Twins for Greenwood’s.”

 

***

 

Chris heads back to Dianna’s trailer an hour later, feeling worse for wear. He slowed right down on the whisky after Bruce told him about his grand plan for Lea and Zach, because if he went past tipsy and into inebriated, Chris was sure he’d say something he’d regret. As it is, he’s had to agree to think about it.

It’s very dark, and the air is still heavy with heat. Chris sways as he walks, just as stunned by Bruce’s proposal as he is by the whiskey. He steadies himself with a hand on the trailer he’s passing. John’s trailer, so Dianna’s is still a way to go. The only lights guiding him are the soft glowing of those trailer windows, the light diffused behind drawn curtains. Tonight, it seems as though those curtains are shut against him, blocking him out.

Chris knows he hasn’t been much use to the circus for a long time, and he feels like a drain on the troupe’s resources. Training someone else for the trapeze would at least involve giving something back, something substantial.

But it would mean training someone _else_ for the trapeze.

He shakes his head, surprised at himself for even being worried about it, and begins to make his way through the maze of trailers. It’s not like he wants to fly anymore, and Greenwood’s needs _someone_ on fly trap. No one else has ever proved as good as Di or Chris. The secondary flyers are okay – Jennifer, Rachel, and even Anton had given it a go for a few weeks – but none of them have been like Dianna or Chris, who were taught to fly not long after they could walk.

Nor is there much audience interest in watching a flyer control-drop from their trick into the net: a flier _needs_ a catcher. The audience wants interaction, danger, thrills. John is an adequate catcher, but his success rate runs much lower than Chris’s ever did, and he’s only performed a few times since the accident. He prefers to stick with clowning.

Chris pauses to lean against a nearby trailer, feeling nauseous. Too much scotch, he tells himself. That’s all. He recognizes the trailer as his unused own, small and dark. He’s nearly home, then, nearly back with Di. A breeze begins to make its way through the campsite, lifting the smothering blanket of heat and stirring the hair away from Chris’s forehead, cooling him like a mother’s hand. He thinks of his mom, misses her with an abrupt, painful pang, and wishes she were still here to advise him. He pushes off the trailer and continues weaving his way home.

Greenwood’s is not like other circuses. They’re smaller, for one thing, and more traditional. They have only one animal act – the horses – and there are fewer acts overall, but those that they _do_ have are top-notch. Before the accident, Chris and Di had been prime poaching targets from the best circuses in North America and Europe, but they’d always refused. They were born into Greenwood’s, and they’d stick with Greenwood’s. Chris feels an intense loyalty to the troupe and to Bruce. Not being able to perform has made him uncomfortable, but even the idea of tumbling makes his heart race with fear these days. If he _could_ train up another trapeze act, it might make him feel better.

Or it might make him feel worse. He’s not sure.

Chris rounds the corner of Zoë’s trailer, tripping over a tuft of grass, and sees Dianna’s light still on. It’s only a few more steps to the door. As he opens it, the loneliness he felt outside washes away in the warm welcoming glow.

She’s reading in bed again as though she hasn’t been missing all night. “What have you been doing?” he asks, leaning up against the doorway.

Di looks up, surprised. “Getting to know Lea. You?”

“Uno with Bruce. He won.”

Di smiles. “Of course.”

“That was some performance she gave at dinner.”

“Lea? Yeah. She’s fiery.”

“That’s one word for it.”

“Well, I like her,” Di says. “She has the artistic temperament down, sure. But she’s fun.”

“What in the hell did you even talk to her about? I can’t imagine you have anything in common.”

“Oh, I have a life, Christopher. You might think I lie here crippled all day while you wander around wringing your hands, but I do stuff. I do stuff you don’t even know about.”

“Di—” He hates the c-word. _Crippled_.

“ _Chris_.” Great. She’s pissed. “If _I’m_ making jokes about my condition? It’s time to get over it.”

 _Et tu, Brute?_ Chris thinks, but he nods. “I get it.”

“I don’t think you do.” She’s snarling at him like she used to, pre-accident, and it’s so unexpected that Chris takes a little step backwards. “I’m tired of the martyr act, Chris. Either get over it, or get away from me. You’re not helping. This moping around, the sackcloth and ashes routine – I’m done. Every time you come in here, you need to be smiling and positive. No more regrets. If you can’t do that, just – just stay away from me.”

He stares at her, unbelieving. “Dianna, I –”

“I’m serious. Get happy, or get out. I can’t deal with this bullshit anymore. And you can sleep in your own damn trailer tonight. I don’t need you playing nursemaid anymore.”

Chris backs out the door, still sure she’ll call him back. Her light goes out, but he waits a full ten minutes before he admits defeat. He turns and makes his way back to his own trailer in the dark.


End file.
